My Lord, What a Morning

Perhaps it was the dry, windy chill in the air.
Or maybe it was the warmth that came only when the sun's rays hit directly.
Whatever the reason, this morning more than any other morning this week--I might even venture to say this entire summer--has caused me to exclaim in my soul: "My Lord, what a morning!"

I woke today at an hour that I used to call "ungodly" but that most Tolucans would consider quite godly, indeed: 6am.  As I am not a particularly morning person, this was strike one.  Today I awoke to the pleading strains of Sasha's (my cat's) vocal cords, crying out for food or water or some such thing.  I don't know whether I snore or not, but I believe that Sasha is able to tell when I come up briefly from deep sleep in the morning, and she is able to catch me before I go back to sleep.  Either I snore or my breathing changes.  Regardless, she is attuned to my sleep cycles and she was the one who woke me up early on my day off--strike two.  Immediately recognizing the futility of returning to bed, I put on a pot of coffee.  Ah, the first cup of the day.  Base hit.

Energized by a cup of coffee or two, I decided to venture out for a walk.  I stepped outside.  Strike one.  The cold chased me back in, where I almost stayed, but for the motivation of the several tens of pounds I have gained in the last few months.  Resigned, I put on a sweatshirt, stocking cap and light gloves and returned to the brisk, fresh air.  I started walking in the cold.  And the wind.  Pop-up caught on the fly.  You're out.  I had no reason not to turn back right then.

Thankfully, just then I simply quit taking score.  Mindlessly, I walked forward.  Then, I reached the edge of town.  As trees and houses turned to corn and beans, I left the cold shadows of town and hit the sunshine of the open fields.  Or rather, the sunshine hit me.  (Take your base.)

Just then, my mindlessness dissolved, and a phrase bubbled up from my memory.  A hymn came to mind, and--of a sudden--my soul rejoiced within me.  I said to myself: "My Lord, What a Morning."

I didn't have very good reasons, but I had reason enough to be grumpy this morning (it doesn't always take much).  And yet, I was filled--for no particular reason--with joy and contentment.  And I gave thanks to God for the day.  And in my mind I sang the song, "My Lord, What a Morning."

That song is a curious song.  The phrase I kept repeating is one of astonishment and pleasure, but the song itself is about the end times:

"My Lord, what a morning; my Lord, what a morning;
oh, my Lord, what a morning, when the stars begin to fall.
You will hear the trumpet sound, to wake the nations underground
looking to my God's right hand, when the stars begin to fall."  (and so on...)

It is a song about the dread-filled end of the world.  And yet it is a song of hope.  For a morning is just a beginning, and who knows what the day might bring?  I am reminded of a phrase that the Klingons from Star Trek use before they go into battle or start a new venture: "Today is a good day to die."  Now, many might hear this and call it defeatist.  Certainly, the phrase is macabre and grim.  To think of one's death--to think that one might die today--is not usually a pleasant thought.  However, woven throughout the phrase is a healthy and very real zest for life.  There is contentment in the phrase, and even a joy in life, and the strivings that life brings.  I think it is a very Christian phrase, actually.  Since, the day that this world dies may be the day "you will hear the sinner cry," but it is the day that you will also "hear the Christian shout" (verses 2 and 3 of our song).  The day of our death, the day that the world ends--both of these are days of triumph.  How blessed to wake up on those days and say in one's heart: "My Lord, what a morning!"  and "Today is a good day to die!"

Have you ever felt that way?
Have you ever felt an overwhelming sense of joy?
Have you ever felt so passionate about the tasks of life and faith so as to exclaim such phrases?
Have you ever felt like thanking God in your heart out of the blue, for no discernible reason?

Well this morning I realized something.  You won't have anything to feel thankful toward God for, unless you first feel the overwhelming sense of joy, passion and gratitude.

We have it backwards.  We think that simply by receiving something--a gift--we will be inspired to gratitude.  Not true, not true.  Especially, with the gifts that we receive from God on a daily basis.  In repetition, we grow accustomed to the blessings God gives us, and we take them for granted or begin to feel entitled to them.  But this morning, I found that it isn't until you have been inspired by joy--it isn't until you have been inspired by gratitude that you really begin to notice all of the things that God gives.

This morning, I had plenty of reasons to be grumpy--many of which I did not and won't go into here.  But, all of a sudden, a wave of contentment and joy came over me: the Holy Spirit.  Then, and only then, was I able to give thanks for the sun, the brisk air, the ability to walk, the chance to be up in the morning, the opportunity to see and say hi to people around town as I walked, the insects and animals I saw and heard, and all of the countless other little things--each of which are gifts from God.

First  came the prayer: "My Lord, what a morning!"
Then, the whole world looked different, as though the stars fell and were replaced with the face of God.

I pray the Holy Spirit bring you many such days.
Amen.

Faith: Just Do It

-or- One Does Not Pay for the Gift of Faith

Last Sunday's Gospel reading was hard to swallow.  Jesus, followed by crowds full of enthused people, spoke on the cost of discipleship.  It was as though he questioned the hearts of those who were following, questioned whether they were full of mere enthusiasm or the passion of faith.  And so, he tells us what is required of his disciples, namely that we:

1. Hate father and mother, wife and children, sisters and brothers.
2. Hate life itself.
3. Carry your cross and follow Jesus.
4. Give up all of your possessions.

Let us examine what each of these really mean before proceeding.  First of all, what does it mean to hate family, friends and even life itself?  In Jesus' time, the word "hate" meant something a little different.  Today the word is laced with vitriolic, highly emotional sentiments.  Hate is one of the strongest words in the English language.  In Jesus' day, the word "hate" didn't have a lot of that baggage.  It meant simply: "turn away from," or "separate from."  Jesus is saying that we have to be willing to choose God over and against all other relationships.  This is harder than it sounds, and it sounds hard.  Abraham is our example of this: he left his family to start a new life in the land of Canaan.  God asked him to pick up and move and he did, forsaking the life he grew up with, forsaking the gods that his family worshipped.  Forsaking his loved ones.  And later, Abraham was even willing to turn away from his only son, Isaac--Abraham did not "hate" Isaac in the way we understand the word, rather he loved Isaac more than anything in the world.  But when God asked him to turn away from Isaac, Abraham was willing to hate Isaac to the point of murder.  If God calls on us to, are we willing to turn away from friends and family--not because we don't like them, but because God has asked us to, even while we still love and cherish them?

Second, what does it mean to hate life itself?  In today's age, when we hear "hate your life" we immediately jump to the desperation of suicide.  And so we may think that this requirement of discipleship is the willingness to die for the sake of the gospel.  Not true!  The next requirement deals with giving up our life (for that is what bearing the cross means).  So what does it mean, then, to hate one's life?  It means to turn away from one's life.  That is, turn away from the life that you have built.  What is life made up of?  People, activities, possessions?  All of these and more.  When you move to a new place, you must set up a new life--you find new routines, your old habits may no longer be available and so you take on new habits.  You must find a new support system.  When you move into a new house, you must find new homes for all of your possessions.  And when you have done all of these things and more, you have etched out a comfortable life for yourself.  All of this is what Jesus is calling us to hate.  Leave your comfort zone, take on new habits and activities, expand your friendships to include different people, etc.  Turn away from your routines and become someone new.

Third, what does it mean to bear the cross.  At times, I am willing to take the image of the cross as a metaphor, but not here.  I think here Jesus is speaking directly and without equivocation.  Here Jesus is saying be willing to die for your faith.  The cross is a symbol of death.  Simple as that.  And we are to bear the Word of God, the Gospel through every experience and event--even through death itself.

Fourth and finally, Jesus says that we must give up all of our possessions.  Again, Jesus is speaking clearly and directly here.  We are to sell everything we own, and give it away.  Only then, are we truly free to hate our life and embrace the new life that Jesus is offering us.  There is no metaphor here, there are no degrees of completing this requirement.  We get rid of all of our possessions.

Whosoever does not do these things cannot--is unable to--be Jesus' disciple.

It is so unfortunate, it is so off-putting, when Jesus speaks clearly and directly.  Oh, how pleasant it is when he speaks in soft parables that give us the wiggle room to make our own interpretations.  But, alas, here Jesus wishes to speak plainly.  Jesus wishes to show how offensive the gospel message really is to those who are comfortable in this life.

How many of us can say that we are willing to--or have already--done the things on this list of prerequisites?  I have not.  I have not even come close.  I, therefore, am unable to be Jesus' disciple.

And I think that is the point.
We are unable to do it.

So, Jesus launches into a couple of parables about measuring the cost of things before you jump into them.  "For which one of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it?"  And, "...what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand?"

Hearing these parables, my first thought is: "The cost of discipleship is too great.  I cannot do it.  Therefore, I shouldn't even try."

Is that the message that Jesus is sending us in this gospel passage?  It would seem so.

But there is hope.  The Kingdom of the World is caught up with trying to estimate costs and compare them to means.  But the Kingdom of God is more interested in people who venture out with faith, which augments ones means.

I think Jesus is telling us not to try estimating the cost of discipleship.  Instead, we are to just take the leap of following Jesus and deal with things as they come.  If we pause to figure out if we can do it or not, we have already stopped ourself from the leap of faith.  And if we go further with the calculations, we will find that we do not have what it takes and so we will never try to follow Jesus.  Instead, we must have the faith to simply begin following and, come what may, follow to the best of our abilities.

Life is such that counting the cost of anything ahead of time is just guesswork and hopefulness.  The one who sits down to build a house can plan all he or she wants.  They can get the proper financing, they can choose blueprints and hire the right builders.  But even the best laid plans are bungled by reality.  As the house is being built there are still so many unforeseen problems and decisions that have to be addressed along the way.  One must be constantly present and vigilant, lest those who are doing the work make decisions on the spot for you (workers who will do their best, but who will neither pay for nor live with the choices they make).  The reality is that the cost of building is usually much higher than the estimates at the beginning.

And as for the king who is estimating whether he will win or lose a battle against superior forces, no matter how accurately he accounts for resources, numbers, battlefield conditions and strategies, the battle's actual outcome is always unforeseeable.  The battle is not always won by the superior forces, or the better strategist, or the one whom the terrain and whether favors.  And the war is not always won by the one who wins the battle.

The changes and chances of life are always able to bungle the best laid plans.

Sitting down to estimate the cost of doing something, is only trying to minimize loses--to minimize the gamble.  And that simply cannot be done with faith.  In the passion of faith, we are to put everything on the line, trusting in God alone.  Again, just by sitting down to estimate the cost of what it means to be a Christian, we have already proven that we are not Christian.  Just that momentary pause in order to decide if we are willing to pay the price, is a hesitation that shows that we do not have faith.

Instead, faith is like life--we must not try to predict what will actually become, but rather we must face each moment as it comes.  We must simply jump into faith, trust God.  And if a trial comes that we fail, then we simply jump upon God's grace and forgiveness---but we never pause.  We continue moving, not despairing over the cost of discipleship nor our inability to pay that cost.  We keep moving, keep living.  And when we come to a tough requirement that we are able to pay.  When we come to a trial or temptation that we are able to beat with flying colors, keeping the faith, becoming an example and hero of faith--even then, we do not pause to account for our wins and losses.  For pausing to congratulation ourselves is also a hesitation that prevents us from following.

Therefore, I think Jesus is trying to tell us: do not worry about the cost.  Do not waste time trying to guess what God will require of you.  Simply follow me, and be ready for anything.  Discipleship is costly, but the reward, eternal happiness, is worth any cost.  We are to keep our eyes on the goal, keep our eyes on the road, and trust that the Holy Spirit will help us along the way.

Do not be like the kings and the builders of this world, who must account for every detail before they will do anything.  Instead, be a king and builder of the Kingdom of God: dream, work and sacrifice trusting that God will, in the end, make something of you.

In the end, God really doesn't have a use for our stuff.  God simply wants you...and me.
That is really the cost.  I must give God myself, in order for him to make something of me.
It seems like a gamble, but it is the only sure bet under the sun.
Thanks be to God for that.

Without Authority on the Holy Spirit

-or- Who is to Decide What the Spirit is Saying?

I despise one conversation in particular.  Most often, Christian clergy are the offenders in such a conversation (and bishops are the worst, since they believe they are given authority to make such calls on behalf of not only the laity, but also--and especially--the clergy), although the laity have taken on the bad habit as well.  The habit, the conversation, is namely, claiming to know the movements of the Holy Spirit in another's life.

If I experience some hardship, others are quick to claim that the Holy Spirit is using that hardship to test me, to purify me and make my faith in God complete.  If I am in some situation that causes offense or despair, the Holy Spirit has called me to it, has called me--please notice--so that I might grow.  We love to justify another's suffering by thinking and saying that it is good for them!

The damnable part of such "comforting" words is that one cannot argue against them.  That is not to say that they are true, but rather simply that such claims are unassailable.  

What follows is my assault on such claims as to how the Holy Spirit is moving in my life.

Please note, first of all, the possessive, first-person singular pronouns I use in that sentence.  True faith is and must needs be subjective.  God would have us each individually, as individuals, be transformed by the Crucifixion/Resurrection event.  Yes, I hear about the historical event from a third person, some apostle, and yet it means nothing unless I appropriate it myself.  Hearing the gospel means nothing unless the hearing of it transforms my heart, the way I think, and ultimately transforms the way I behave in the world.  In the moment that faith is born in me, I am divided from all others, and I relate singly to my God.  And it is only through God, by the act of Jesus Christ and through the power of the Holy Spirit, that I am united to others.  The Communion of Saints (whether here on earth or in heaven) is accessed only through Jesus Christ, who is the Way to the Triune God.  As Luther once said, there are two things that all must do alone: work out one's faith and die.  No one can die for me.  No one can believe for me (that is, no one can be transformed by the gospel for me, but only for themselves).

Only I can interpret what the Holy Spirit is calling me to do or be.  Because it pertains to the Holy Spirit to relate to me individually.  The task of faith is to discern the Holy Spirit's call for my life.  Other voices--even the voices of the most faithful, even the voices of those called to proclaim the gospel--are just as easily misleading as they are accurate.  In fact, the one who claims to speak for the Holy Spirit is in a precarious spot, since it is the greatest offense to be wrong about the Holy Spirit's intentions.  Indeed, one of the most destructive acts, for a Christian, is to wrongfully make a claim about the Holy Spirit's will and movement in the life of another person.

Imagine how debilitating it would be, if you were in a state of complete despair, to have someone (particularly someone who is so removed from your life as to be a stranger) to say to you: the Holy Spirit has called you to be in that situation, and it is the Holy Spirit that is instructing you precisely through this experience.  For surely, you currently think you know what you need, but that is only what you want---and the Spirit is calling you away from vain and selfish desires.  And now imagine that the person who says this is one who is supposed to have some spiritual authority, spiritual authority because of the call of the church.

Meanwhile, in your despair, it feels as though the Holy Spirit is saying just the opposite!  That, by humbling and depriving you of inspiration, by making you feel inhuman, making you feel other than yourself, the Spirit is telling you that you have not yet finished your journey.

Who is correct?  Whose is the right interpretation of the Holy Spirits communication?

Today, in our churches, there lives the sentiment that the individual cannot be trusted with interpreting the communications of the Holy Spirit.  But this is no different than it has always been.  The Pharisees did not trust that prototypical human individual: Jesus Christ.  And if you read the book of acts, there is a constant tension between the community of the faithful and the individual person of faith.  The Holy Spirit, paradoxically, gathers us into a congregation and then works unceasingly against the crowd.

Whenever someone other than yourself pleads with you: "Be open to the Spirit's call."  And if they say such a thing with the purpose of helping you come to terms with some particular circumstance, then do not listen.  It is the same as if you have an argument with someone and the argument ends without any resolution.  And the other person says to you, "Well, pray about it."  You know that the person has already decided what is "right" and they only expect you--through the vehicle of prayer--to come around to their point of view.  In the same way, people abuse the Holy Spirit.

Indeed, when people ask you to be open to the Spirit they--as often as not--are dissuading you from discerning the Spirit's true will for your life.  Just as when Peter was told by his Teacher "Get behind me Satan."  Peter was claiming to speak with religious authority, but he was unknowingly following the will of the demonic.

When I come to someone, I have no authority to claim what the Holy Spirit is calling them to do or to be.  I am without authority.  And it is my calling, as an ordained minister of the church of Christ, to help you ask that question for yourself: "What is the Holy Spirit calling you to do or to be?"

Because if I make a claim and it is false, I am condemned and I have positioned myself to stand alone--apart from God, because I have claimed to be God.  But if you make a claim for yourself about the Holy Spirit and are wrong, you immediately stand before God's graceful countenance.  You have not set yourself up as God, but have set yourself up as an individual human being in relationship to God--through your very attempt at discernment of God's will over above yours.

And even if I make a claim about the Holy Spirit's call to you, and I end up being correct--I have condemned us both!!!  I am condemned because I have still set myself up as God, and I have the added temptation of thinking that I am right in my claim for Godhood!  I have condemned you because I have forced you to relate to me and my words instead of relating yourself, as a singular individual, directly to God.  I cannot tell you what to be or what to do, but only help you ask the questions so that you stand before God in freedom of what mortals would influence you to be.

When someone says to you, "You must be open to the Holy Spirit."  And if they are referring to a particular situation, and vying in their heart for a particular outcome.  What they mean to say is this: "You are being difficult.  Stop making trouble for us."  And it is your right, indeed, your duty to resist such a claim on your life and fling yourself even farther out into the deep water.  It is your right and duty to ask the Spirit directly what it is God calls you to do or to be.

Ah, but blessed is the one who defends the question.  Blessed is the one who asks you, "What is the Holy Spirit calling you to do in this situation?"  Blessed is the one who merely helps you to understand the situation and--more specifically--helps you to understand the issue, that is, the question at hand.  Blessed is the one who empowers you to make the decision, instead of putting stumbling blocks in your way.

Finally, to overcome the stumbling blocks--to will to follow the Spirit when others claim the Spirit calls you to something else, to will to follow the Spirit while others say God calls you to do the opposite--such a trial is left for the hero of faith.  At some point we are required to stand against those we love, against those in authority, against even ourselves in order to follow the call of the Holy Spirit.

But only the individual can discern what is the trial and what is the call.

Because the Holy Spirit always speaks to you, always speaks to me--and does not speak to us.  

Yes, the Spirit gives us one mind in Christ Jesus.  But remember, the mind of Christ followed the will of the Spirit.  We are called to do the same--for ourselves, and not for others.

So, I ask you, "What is the Holy Spirit calling you to do or to be?"

The possibilities that present themselves when that question is asked in honesty and in earnestness will bring the individual anxiety.  Because the question is meant to bring freedom, and not captivity.

Thanks be to God.

Postscript:

Just as the Holy Spirit pours gifts into each one individually, so too the call to use those gifts is poured out individually.  It is impossible for the Holy Spirits actions, will or movements to be considered objectively.  For this reason, many of the symbols of the Holy Spirit are things can cannot be controlled: water, fire, wind.  Yes, these things can be contained, but it takes constant effort.  Woe to the one who uses their energy to contain the Spirit.  Woe upon woe to the one who tries to contain someone falsely under the name of the Spirit.  Here is the two-edged sword!  Here is the reason that I am without authority--even over myself.  How do I, then, discern the Spirit's call?  That is the question.  rha

It's About Time

-or- Free Will and What God Knows about the Future

If humans have free will, then God cannot be omniscient.
Omniscient is defined as "all-knowing."
Usually by "all-knowing," one means that God not only knows everything about what has been and what is, but also about what will be.  That is, to be truly omniscient, God would have to know the future.  However, if God knew the future, then the future would have to be determined.  And if the future is determined, then free will is impossible.

Let us take an example.  Tomorrow, I would like to take a bike ride.  Let's say I even plan on taking a bike ride.  I still do not know if I will take a bike ride tomorrow or not.  It is possible that I will, but it is also possible that it won't.  I, the actor, will not know until tomorrow comes and I actually take a bike ride, or I don't.  Oh, I can look at my schedule and see if I have free time for a bike ride.  If I do not, then the statistical probability that I will take a bike ride is very low.  It is, however, still possible.  In order for anyone to know--even God--whether or not I am to take a bike ride tomorrow, then the future would have to be predetermined.  True and correct knowledge is only of the actual and not of the possible.  I can know that there is a possibility that I will take a bike ride tomorrow, but that is only because there is an actual possibility (I have a bike, I am able to ride, bicycles exist, for that matter I exist, etc.).

If God has knowledge of the future, then as soon as God knows that future, possibility is destroyed and the only actual outcome must be what God knows.  Therefore, any future actualities that I may think are possible are really impossible.  Even if I still choose to ride my bike tomorrow, it is really a straw choice, since God has foreknowledge of the event.  If God knows that I will go on a bike ride, it must play out in that way--there is no other possible sequence of events.

One answer to this conundrum is to argue that God sits outside of time, and therefore can see the future without affecting its outcome by that foreknowledge.  On the face of it, this argument seems to solve the problem.  God can simply see now what I will freely choose tomorrow.  Time flows linearly, but God is standing outside of the stream, able to see up and down the timeline.  God stands outside of time, in eternity, and therefore can experience any moment in time at any point in (or, as the case may be, out of) time.

But when we explore this idea further, we realize that human free will is still in jeopardy.  Although God is atemporal, temporally all-encompassing, God's knowledge still delves into time when God looks forward to see the future.  Think, for example, about rewinding and fast-forwarding a movie.  I, the one who holds the remote control, stand outside of the flow of time within the movie.  At any moment, I can see any point in the movie that I want to see by choosing a scene and scanning forward or backward from that scene selection.  I can look ahead to see how the movie will end.  I can come to know this because the events in the movie are determined.  The movie will always end how it ends, and therefore, I can fast forward in order to know the ending before the sequence of events occurs that led to that ending.

If God is able to see ahead in time because he stands outside of time, free will is still abolished.  Not because God's knowledge somehow affects the determinacy of time, but rather because in order for God to be able to look ahead in time and know anything, then the future must be determined.  It is not the foreknowledge that makes predestination, but rather we see that predestination must be at work in order for anyone--even God, who sits outside of time--to know the future.  In other words, the phenomenon of free will is a variable of life that keeps everything in the realm of the possible until it becomes actual.  And so, if the actual is able to be known before it occurs, then all other possibilities are destroyed and the future is determined.

So, if God is to be omniscient even as human beings have free will, we must ask the question, "What does God know about the future?"  The answer reveals a God who is more spectacular than a being who can simply know the future: God has an omniscience that sees and knows all of the possibilities.    God can see all of the possible paths and the choices that we will be faced with in the future.  However, God is unable to see the actual, until the actual takes place in time.  [One of my underlying assumptions, clearly, is that there is something unique about the present.  That is, the present is absolute and universal.  At any given time, there is but one moment that is the boundary between past and future.  Moreover, that boundary is such that even God must experience time in that way.  God is able to look beyond the boundary of now into the future, but what he sees is not yet actual (because the moment of the present has not come yet), and yet God is able to see all of the possibilities beyond the present moment.]  God can still, in such a case, be surprised by our choices, without being taken by surprise.

Why does any of this matter?
Well, for me, God is a God of possibilities.  Evil is horribly unoriginal.  And when we are trapped into predetermined actions, we are essentially being held captive by sin--it is sin that is making us predictable, sin that is determining our choices.  But God always works to free us from sin, to give us more and more possibilities for the future.  Our God is a God that safeguards our freedom, making it possible for us to actually become new each moment.  And if the future becomes anything but a bundle of possibilities, then predetermination threatens the freedom God has given us.

Does God Micro-Manage?

-or- For What Shall I Pray?

I must have been Out East, attending Yale Divinity School.  Sitting with some fellow students, I was called upon to pray.  I prayed for several important things, though I do not remember what those were.  What I do remember are the trivial things I prayed for: that it wouldn't rain over the weekend, that our soccer team would win on Saturday, that we would pass Monday's test.

I remember these three things because after I finished the praying, one of my fellow classmates criticized my prayer.  My colleague declared to me how preposterous it was to believe in a Supreme Being that cared one iota about trivial things such as whether or not I pass a test, it rains, or which intramural soccer team wins--and the like.  At the time I reacted with the appropriate righteous indignation:  "Of course God cares; of course God listens and responds to all of our prayers."
Today, I have a much different opinion.  I have a different understanding about how prayer works.  And I have a different understanding as to how God acts in the world and what God's purpose is.

This change began in me with a revulsion from a common Christian platitude: "God has a plan for you." or "It is all a part of God's plan."  Such nonsense is used in an attempt to comfort people in the midst of suffering or satisfy them in the midst of the confusion of life.  The platitude takes such forms as "God needed an angel in heaven and that is why he took ______ away from you."  Even more dreadful than that is the phenomenon of the televangelist turned judge: "Haiti was struck down by an earthquake because of their sinful pact with the devil."  Somehow, it is supposed to be comforting to one and to all that every little thing that occurs in life is a detail in some larger plan, that every event is a cog in the machine which God has designed this life to be--that every little thing that happens to me has some great purpose, which is unfathomable from my very mortal and finite perspective.

But sisters and brothers, I tell you, God does not micro-manage.

It is true, God does have a plan, or put in a better way, God always acts with a purpose.  However, it does not follow that God, therefore, has written into this plan whether I pass a test or my team wins, etc.  In fact, when and how I die may not even be written into the plan--as significant as that event may seem from my own perspective.

Think about it.  What kind of Being would God be, if God were a micro-manager?
+ God would be a caricature of an omnipotent being, that is, a god who uses their infinite power to orchestrate minuscule events--like smiting an ant hill in the battle against evil.
+ Such a god would be a fairy tale, like the magical Santa Claus who visits every boy and girl on earth in one night, having kept a naughty/nice ledger on each of them throughout the year.
+ God would be a fable, the likes of which we see in the movie Bruce Almighty.  The point of the movie has nothing to do about God, but instead is a lesson in morality.  The focus is on the haughty pridefulness, and self-centeredness of humankind.  Bruce was unable to successfully take over God's job because his desires and perspectives remained too narrow--remained all too human.  In the movie, God is only a foil for our tragic narrowness.
+ Such a god would be pagan: one who is directly seen in nature, and who is the direct, supernatural cause for every (natural) thing that happens.
+ Lastly, such a god would be a dread being.  One who uses suffering as a teaching implement, uses suffering in order to change or control the behavior of individuals.  We have a word for such a being: Tyrant.

No.  God does not fix events; God empowers people.
God's plan focuses not so much on what happens in life so much as the one to whom life is happening.
Failing one test does not negate the intellect with which God has blessed me.  God gives me the gift of my mind to use, instead of rigging every test so that I might ace it.
And when tragedy comes, it is not a part of God's plan, because God's plan for me is always for the good.  Instead, God has a plan to build me up so that I can deal with the changes and chances of life.  Yes, God created the wind, but he does not tell the wind how and when and where to blow.  There is no divine butterfly effect.

Does this mean that we should stop praying for the little things?
Certainly not.  We are to pray without ceasing, for big things and for small things.
But we must have a different understanding of what it means to pray, that is, what happens when one prays.  Prayer is not a magic spell that calls down power from on high to fix events in the world.  We do not pray to God in order for God to change things.  Such a view of the efficacy of prayer is a pagan conception of the relationship between the gods and humankind.  The pagan prays to appease the gods so that they, in turn, act in certain ways--bestow certain blessings.

No, this view of prayer must be rejected.  Prayer does not change or alter God actions or purposes.  Instead, prayer changes people.  In prayer, we allow the Holy Spirit to so work on our minds and hearts in such a way that we are free to act, free from despair.

In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed to his Father that the cup of suffering would be taken from him.  Jesus prayed God would spare him from the Cross.  What was the result of that prayer?  The cross certainly happened, so did God ignore his own son?  Did God hear, but do nothing?  Not at all.  Instead, through Jesus' prayer, God was preparing his son for the task ahead--giving him courage in the face of death, giving him faith to trust in God's larger purpose for him.  God's plan cannot be derailed by small incidentals.  And to God, even death is incidental.

Thus, we pray so that we may be blessed with the gifts of the Spirit of God, in order to meet the changes and chances of life with courage and faith.  God does not control.  God invites.  God repairs.  God forgives.

And so, when my loved one dies, it is not because it was a part of God's plan.  Rather, God's plan is able to break into the world through that death.  Death, which is a natural stage of life in the world, is the opportunity for God to assert God's larger plan for us.  It is the moment in which eternity can break forth into time, or rather, pull the traveller out of time and into eternity--where God's will is done as a matter of course.  In eternity, the will of God and the nature of things are one.  But even there God does not micro-manage.  God simply exists.  And all things exist in and through God.  That is, God is all-in-all.  Meanwhile, in the world, we still wait for this consummation, we still wait for God's will to be done on earth as it is in heaven.  And so, in the meanwhile, God works indirectly.

And in the meanwhile, we continue to pray for everything, great and small.

The Fire of Faith

-or- "Singled out by the Hidden God"

"I came to bring fire to the earth....  Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth?  No, I tell you, but rather division!  From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three...."     Luke 12: 49, 51, 52

In this Gospel lesson from last Sunday, we are given a picture of Jesus' ministry that is foreign to our ears and minds.  After reading the section from Luke's gospel above, I immediately thought of a line from one of my favorite Christmas carols.  It came to mind because it is so different a picture:

"Tell the story,
how from glory
God came down at Christmastide,
Bringing gladness,
chasing sadness,
Showering blessings far and wide."

No fire there.

Even one of our most common images of the Cross, despite the event being a horrific execution that scattered the disciples, set Judeans against one another, and instigated division between Roman rulers and their Jewish subjects, is the image of Jesus stretching out his arms in order to gather all people to himself.  And it is true, by the Cross and Resurrection, we are unified into one people of God, unified into one Baptism for the forgiveness of sins, unified into one holy catholic and apostolic church.

So what is with this talk about fire and division?
Jesus is talking about how we each and all must approach God and faith--alone (that is, for ourselves) and amidst the fire of rebirth (that is, the refining fire).

We begin with how mortals see and experience God in the world.  Christians cannot have a direct relationship with God, that is God cannot be seen directly.  In paganism, the gods are seen in every tree and river, and upon every mountain.  In Christianity, nature consists in traces of the hidden God's work.  In paganism, extraordinary beings reveal the glory of the gods directly: the strength of Hercules, the amazing appearance and reappearance of the Phoenix, and the lightning bolts of Zeus.  In Christianity, God is hidden in very ordinary things.  For instance, the most direct communication between God and humanity was Jesus Christ (when God came down in a form we could see and talk to directly).  Still, God's glory in the incarnation was hidden in a very normal human being.  Even God's victory was hidden in defeat; the power of God's life was hidden in death.  (For God's victory and life were shown most clearly on the Cross.)

[Some of God's manifestations, particularly in the Old Testament are rather more extraordinary.  For instance the Ark of the Covenant, the appearance of angelic beings, and the burning bush that was not consumed by the fire.  In that last, it was not only the ineffectual fire, but also the fact that the bush was talking to Moses, which makes that manifestation of God quite direct, and definitely spectacular.  One must remember that these were the days of paganism, and God was finally revealing God's self in such ways as to assert his existence, presence and dominance over and against other, false, gods.  These images must be tempered by other, more mysterious and indirect images, such as the three strangers that visited Abraham and Sarah or the sheer silence that marked God's presence for the prophet, instead of the earthquakes and winds and storms.]

God is hidden, God relates and communicates with us indirectly because the truth about God can only be experienced or laid hold of inwardly.  What does this mean?  To begin, Martin Luther once said that there are two things that each of us must do alone: faith and death.  No one can believe for us; no one can die for us.  We must experience these...processes.  If I go to church simply because people I know do--or better yet, if I go to church just because my parents did--or if I say the creed simply because the rest of the congregation is saying it, then I do not have faith.  Only once I have the passion of inwardness does faith begin to present itself.  I say the creed because I truly believe it, and don't care whether others say it or not; I go to church because I desire to see and worship God, not because it simply what I do.

I must first be divided from all others, and understand (subjectively, not objectively) God's truth in Jesus Christ, before I am able to be unified to the people of God in the Kingdom of God on earth.  God doesn't want to relate to a crowd, but to me and to you.  God does not want us to come to the table as a commune (which is a prerequisite for a cult), but would have us come as individuals so that God himself can transform us into a holy communion.  God comes to ignite the fire of passion in us, dividing us from others as the individuals we were created to be, in order that God can relate to each of his creatures singly.  And it is only through our relationship to God that we then are bound together.  We are one in Christ, gathered by the Holy Spirit.  We are gathered individually, called to unity.

Christ comes to bring division, then, in order to break asunder all human allegiances.  If I go to church because of my parents; if I say I love God for my parents; if I get married in the church solely because my parents want it that way--in each case, I do not act out of love for God, I act out of love for my parents.  God need not even attend.  And so a household is divided so that the next generation may feel the passion of faith for themselves--each individually.

Just so, if I claimed to be Christian because I live in a Christian nation, or even the reverse--if because I was Christian I somehow needed the nation in which I live to be Christian also--then this is not faith, but nationalism.

Instead, God is revealed indirectly.  God is always hidden in, with and under very ordinary things, so that I must--myself--lay hold of the truth of God's presence.  I must come to the crisis of faith in which I choose a relationship with God for myself.  Faith begins in this way.  And only after I have become myself because I am divided--by Christ--from all others, can I be refined in the fire of self-surrender.  At which point, I am freed from the last allegiance holding me back from relationship with God and communion in the Kingdom, to wit, the allegiance to my self.  When I am divided from even my own selfish desires, then faith has reached its height, and I cannot go farther.

God is hidden in the paradox, so that each goal is reached only through its opposite.  God is hidden in the Cross so that I, offended, must lay hold of the passion of faith which goes against what is seen and provable (for one cannot prove that life comes from death).  God is hidden in the ordinary things of my daily life, so that I must look harder and come to know God for myself, and at the same time, come to know myself and my own biases and delusions (in repentance).

God always comes to divide--to single me out, to single you out.  Because God has chosen me, God has chosen you.  God wants a unique relationship which each of us.

Now back to that wonderful Christmas song.  Each of us is called to tell our story of faith, to tell how God came down from Glory to meet each of us individually--how he made me glad, how he chased my sadness away, how he blessed me to be a blessing.

Experience the hidden God for yourself.  Tell that story.  Tell it like you mean it...tell it like you lived it.
May the Holy Spirit single you our with such fire and passion for the Gospel.
Amen.

Bearing the Cross, Part 2

-or- A Brief Treatment on the Theodicy

The Theodicy is a philosophical argument against the existence of God.  It is an old argument that has been, for hundreds of years, very compelling to people.  In fact, when I speak with most folks who were once Christian, but profess the faith no longer, the most frequent reason is, basically, the theodicy.

The argument runs like this:
God is all-powerful.
God is good, righteous and all-loving.
Yet, suffering exists.
Therefore, God cannot be both all-powerful and all-loving.
[Because, either God is all-loving and would not suffer his people to endure evil, and so God is unable to do anything about evil in the world (not all-powerful).  Or, God can do something about evil, but does not want to, and so is not all-loving, not all-good.]

This is the problem of evil.
Because evil exists as it does in the world, neither can God exist in the way that we Christians talk about him--as omnipotent and one with steadfast love.

Allow me to begin by saying that there is no answer to the problem of evil when it is phrased this way. The logic of the argument above is undeniable.  Given the reality of suffering, the first two propositions cannot both be true and the conclusion follows.  I argue, however, that the phrasing of the problem is too simplistic.  In the blogpost that follows, I will try to briefly show that the premises and assumptions behind this logical quandary are misguided, that the problem of evil is much more complex than the argument above indicates...and that the solution to the issue must be equally complex--I daresay paradoxical.

First, the argument from evil assumes that there is a God.  At root, the assumption is that God causes (or similarly allows to be caused) evil against humanity and creation.  In Part 1, we discussed a human's initial response to suffering--laying blame.  The argument above, the way it is phrased and constructed, consistently blames God for human suffering.  Yet, God is, indeed, blameless.  I invite you to see "Bearing the Cross, Part 1" for my treatment on this point, as well as my ruminations below.  St. Augustine tried to get around God's culpability by arguing that evil was not a thing-in-and-for-itself, but rather that evil was the absence of the good.  However, this only places more blame on God: now God's shadow is evil itself.  And isn't God still the cause of evil even if evil occurs when he withdraws the good?  For the argument from evil to be compelling, one must begin with the will to blame and disprove God.

Second, most of the compelling arguments against the problem of evil only serve to shift the blame.  Some alter their conception of God, that is, "admit" that God is not omnipotent, or that God does have a  malfeasant side.  If this is not another way to blame God, it is a way to blame humanity itself--we have just had the wrong idea about God.  Another argument is the argument from freedom: God has given his human creations the gift of freedom.  Humans freely choose evil.  Therefore, both evil and an omnipotent and all-loving God both exist.  Responsibility is laid squarely on the shoulders of humanity here.  We are to blame.

None of these answers are adequate to the question.

I suggest, therefore, that we take a new approach.  Instead of looking for the cause of evil, we must simply admit that suffering happens.  Even if everyone in the world lived a perfectly Christ-like life, there would still be suffering in this world, for natural disasters care little about human morality.  If we lived on a calm planet, and Eden, in time our sun would still fizzle out or explode and we would suffer for it (yes, that is an understatement).  Suffering happens.  Why?  There is no satisfying answer to be had.  What caused it to be?  Perhaps suffering comes from the remnants of the chaos that God began to order when he started creation.  That doesn't make chaos bad, but rather it necessitates that the combination of order and chaos is not without pain and strife.

Once we just admit that suffering happens and that its causes elude us, then we are free to open our eyes to what God is doing in the midst of suffering.  For this we look to the cross, because the cross is what gives meaning to all of our suffering--not that our suffering is redemptive, but rather we have God's empathy because God, too, endured suffering.

God is all-loving: he sent his own son.  God, himself, came to experience what it was like in order to be human.  This quality of solidarity is hardly found in the world today.  God suffered to ease our suffering.  God suffered so that our suffering would not be in vain.  God came into the world and took on flesh, so that we would know of God's presence and love in the midst of chaos and suffering.

God is all-powerful: he conquered death through the death of his son.  By suffering, God destroyed suffering.  God overwhelms evil not by obliterating it, but by meeting it and transforming it.  Death is not abolished...its sting is taken away.  God is that power at work in each one of us which turns our suffering into victory.  We cannot overcome what we do not endure, what we do not meet in life.  And although God is not a micro-manager (he does not control each wind to make sure a hurricane never occurs), we know that he is always present in our lives to give us power and victory.

Soren Kierkegaard often wrote about suffering and the Christian life.  One of the more profound things he said about the Way of faith is this: "The road is not hard, but hardship is the road."  In hardship, in suffering, is when God chooses to come to us, because that is when we need love and power.  And so hardship is not a bunch of obstacles along the road of faith.  Instead, the only way is suffering itself.  That is the road that God makes easy for us, that is the burden he makes light.

What blessed joy is ours that we find God in hardship, because that is where God pours his power and love.  What blessed joy is ours that God does not cause or allow suffering, but combats it in the only effective way there is, and precisely when we need the help.  What blessed joy is ours that God is strong enough and loving enough to use the cross to solve the problem of evil.